A Treasure Called Past
by Tornado 666
Summary: Logan awoke fifteen years ago in the cold tundra of Canada with no memory of who he was and a feral being lurking beneath his skin. He spends his days in the Xavier mansion, battling everyday to keep his animal under control and his mind from falling to
1. The Terrors of Night

Tornado: I just wanted to note to everyone that this takes place after X2, but Jean's still alive. I know not quite as fun, but just go with the flow. Also, I wanted to note that I don't own the X-men.

* * *

He didn't know where he was. His senses were being driven by panic. He could depict the silhouettes of men in lab coats through the bubbling turquoise water that surrounded him. Fear coursed thickly through his veins, and the animal clawed at the cage desperately demanding control. The cage snapped, and he sprung gracefully from the water. The men standing looked at him expectantly, but their excitement fiercely transformed into terror. He slashed them, blood raining from the concrete air. His weapons were foreign to him, metal embedded in the skin. They tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He just lopped another head, not bothering to enjoy the sickening sight as it tumbled forgotten to the ground. There was a woman, struggling against the iron hold of three men. She had almost broken free when he started running. He stumbled through the concrete hallways, lost, naked, confused, and engulfed in primal rage. He smelled the rancid metallic blood staining his metal claws, and an anguished cry rang throughout the vacant corridor. There were footsteps approaching at an inhuman speed; the panic rose once more. He sprinted down the hallway, out the monstrous blockade, and into the frigid swirling snow. His legs pumped unconsciously, a dull numbness spreading through his body. The branches blurred past him, and the wind's howls were equal in ferocity to his own. His ears picked up the faint cries: "Logan! Logan! Logan, can you hear me? LOGAN!"

Logan shot up in his bed; a thick layer of cold sweat coated his sculpted body. The images had haunted him for the past fifteen years, but the woman and her voice were new developments. The moon lit the room in a dull illumination, completely different from the first remembered trip into the wilderness's blinding light. His head banged unceremoniously against the headboard as he sunk into his original position, a pulsing headache formulating in the back of his head.

"_Logan? Are you all right?"_ an elder voice sounded inside his head.

"The hell if I know," he responded bitterly.

"_Why don't you come down to my office, and we'll talk about it."_

Logan groaned aloud. Despite the fact that Charles was the sole person who could help him, he had not wanted to trifle with it that night. Dutifully, he rose gently from the bed and padded to the dresser. He caught a glimpse of his rugged complexion. His hair peaked at two points, several strands falling on his forehead. His taunt jaws were lined with thick, curly sideburns. He felt the sudden urge to destroy the glass, hoping to disintegrate his usually prided appearance. He sighed heavily, pulling a white t-shirt over his head and exiting the room.

Charles Xavier was a man who knew almost everything, whether it had happened already or not. He had sensed that Logan was having a particularly disturbing dream. He had been helping Logan piece together a clouded, forgotten past that had no roots or traces for several years now, and yet, he seemed to be no closer to the answer than Logan was. This had troubled him many nights because he was not the type of man who would accept the fact that there was knowledge beyond his reach. Yet he also felt that there was something in front of his face that would solve the entire mystery for him, but what was it?

He and Jean had once spoken about Logan and the professor's obsession with discovering the truth. Jean, while in complete support of allowing the stubborn man to reside in the mansion, believed that Charles was more concerned with the truth for his own benefit than Logan's. He supposed that part of that was correct. Charles knew that, if he one day uncovered the truth, he would never reveal it to Logan.

The door gave a small squeak as it rotated, unveiling a crack occupied by a shaken Logan. The man entered without uttering a grievance or shedding a glance to Charles. He strode to the leather wingback chair by the oak desk, sinking down and absorbing the comfort it offered. The silence was palpable and deafening for several minutes, discomfort slowly rearing its head, snapping its jaws around the moment. Charles intently gazed upon the beast before him as the beast's one hand absently traced the metal-coated bones in his hand. The psychic admired the knowledge that the same man that darted to him for comfort because of a nightmare had single-handedly slaughtered the majority of the men Stryker had sent to invade the mansion not long ago. The animal in its weakest, caged state tamed and displayed willingly for him.

"Anything new in your visions tonight, Logan?" Charles questioned, shattering the prominent restless peace.

The man was silent for several more moments, still examining his skin. "There was a woman."

"A woman? I never thought of Stryker as having a woman in his employment."

"She was probably a doctor. She had a white lab coat on."

"Is that the reason you're so disturbed? Because a woman was present during your operation?"

"Don't insult me, Chuck. I know yer sneaking around in my head. Ya see the part where I'm runnin' around, and there's a voice callin' for me. Ya also see the part where she is strugglin' against the guards."

"Why does it bother you?"

"Cause none of the other fuckers are doin' anything similar."

"Do you think that she was a lover of yours?"

"I don't know."

Charles once more attempted to enter Logan's mind, but he decided that this time it would be best to let the man handle his pain alone. Logan's head flicked to the side, muddy eyes clouded in thought. He had never been one to over analyze anything, but his past was something that he could never let fall idly to the side. His headache had graduated from a dull throb into a bullet bouncing around inside his skull. He could feel the professor probing his conscience, and at the moment, his primal instincts demanded that he leap from the safety of the chair and rip the professor's throat out. He mentally growled at himself for allowing the animal to show disrespect to a man who had helped him through some very difficult times.

"Logan, you cannot eliminate the inner voice. I suspect that it is part of your mutation and most definitely part of who you are," the older man whispered.

Logan glared, critically observing the man's countenance. As always, he radiated an aura of profound knowledge and perception. His glittering emerald eyes were surveying Logan's, frantically searching through his emotions. The lights bounced a glare from his bald head and a few more from the wheelchair. Logan had often wondered how tall the professor had been when he had stood at his full height.

"That inner voice is gonna get someone seriously hurt one day, probably one of the students. I don't think that I could take that."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Logan. You have been able to contain yourself until the situation comes along where your inner self is needed."

"I wonder if what Stryker said was true: if I really was an animal before the metal."

"I honestly couldn't say. Perhaps you should go back to bed. You and Scott are going to be training the students in survival and teamwork tomorrow."

"Yeah, me and ole One Eye. Should be fun," he grumbled, rising from his chair and stalking out the door.

Charles watched intently as he left, still pondering his predicament. Logan was growing more insecure as the days passed. His relationship with Jean was not assisting progress as well. Charles needed to find someone that could understand the pain and worries that Logan held. His mind instantly conjured Hank McCoy a.k.a the Beast, but in the same breath, the candidate was dismissed. Logan was not the type to open to an educated, analyzing person, who would present logical solutions and assumptions for his dilemmas. Despite that, neither man could be in the same room longer than a few seconds before they began battling for the dominance of the room.

No, Logan needed someone who was viewed as weaker than himself, even if that was just an illusion. Charles thought that a woman might be the best choice, but the only two that the man would open up to were Jean and Rogue. Jean could not begin to fathom, nor would she try to, and while Rogue would be sympathetic to him, she was still young and had not mastered the world herself. Charles remained in his darkened office for a time, reminiscing of the females that had passed through these halls and the troublesome gifts they had possessed. Charles smiled gently as he turned to the window, gazing into the abyss of night. _Yes,_ he thought._ I think that it is time to reconnect._


	2. Doctor Colonel

Summer in the Colorado Mountains was still plagued with the occasional snow fall. The children at Camp Demeter did not find the unusual weather as troublesome as the agents and soldiers. They romped mercilessly through the white powder, enjoying the brief time that they were permitted to spend out in the crisp air.

Camp Demeter was a military organized facility for the sons and daughters of high ranking soldiers and powerful politicians that were deemed "special," "dangerous," or, as what was their given name, mutants. Surprisingly, there were a great number in attendance, and the majority of them were very young. Some of the leading geneticists believed that the mutations presented themselves earlier in these children due to their highly stressful and sometimes dangerous lives. The camp was their home. Most families never visited, and those that did were often distressed and did not remain long. Despite this, those in charge attempted to maintain the feeling of home, but it was often destroyed due to military protocols.

The children called the woman in charge of them "Doc," but the soldiers called her "Colonel," despite the fact that she was indeed a rank lower. She was an atypical military woman: she had a doctorate in genetics, specializing in mutations. That was the reason that she had been reassigned from special operations to Camp Demeter. She welcomed the changed with open arms, savoring the feeling of humanitarian jobs. Only once before had she worked in a laboratory, and when she had placed her resignation on Stryker's desk, she a sworn that it was the last. And yet, here she was, dressed in the stereotypical lab-rat attire, stationed at a place where officials hid their "secrets" and waited for her to find a "cure" for mutation. The Colonel hated the parents for it. She did enough to give the illusion that she was diligently progressing, but in reality, she was merely researching ways to suppress dangerous mutations to a level where the children could adapt and be taught to control it.

"Reyna," a female voice called from the doorway. "The kids wanted me to remind you that you promised to play hide-and-go-seek with them outside."

"Yes, I remember," Reyna growled, eyes obscured by the eyepieces of the microscope. "But right now, I am otherwise engaged."

"What's that?" the woman asked, creeping closer to the table. "A new product?"

"Actually, it's Jamie's DNA. I was curious to see if the serum that I created for myself could apply to different people with very different gifts."

"Didn't you specifically engineer that to increase…"

"Yes," she cut in quickly. "I did, but what I'm discovering is that what acts as an enhancer for me is an inhibitor for Jamie. Meaning, under these circumstances, his mutation is actually regressing."

"Well, no offence, but I think that if you told Jamie that you were looking to fix him, you will never get him to open up to you ever again."

"Yeah, I know, and after it took me nearly two years for him to trust me, I'd never even mention that I had his DNA under the microscope."

The blonde woman laughed lightly, tugging the woman away from the machine. The doctor batted the hands away from her form, rising above the other woman, striding powerfully to the door. The blonde trailed her like a puppy, her eyes goggling. Reyna discarded her lab coat, revealing a slimming, low-cut black short sleeve that blended seamlessly into long pants. She removed the clip that held her dark brown hair secured, sending it tumbling and cascading down her strong shoulders. The tresses curled and tossed haphazardly, several strands obscuring her hazel eyes. She flicked them to the side.

"Oh, one more thing before you leave," the blonde yelled before Reyna had exited. "General Malcolm wants to know what your progress is. He wants the cure completed before your retirement."

"Grand. Don't they realize that there is no cure? Ugh. The only cure would be to get these kids out of here and into another place."

"What's wrong with this place?"

"Lacey, this isn't a home. It's a damn military base. The kids know it. The fact that we have soldiers here is a huge reminder. They need to get into a place where there are more kids their own age and no military guards."

"Which reminds me: your father called this morning."

Reyna stopped, her head jerking toward Lacey. Her blood painted lips gapped, revealing pointy, elongated pearl canines. She and her father had not spoken in a year. For him to be calling her now was quite an interesting development. She turned her shock into a grin, striding down the hallway. Two armed guards stood in front of a heavy cement door. They stood straight at attention, saluting their commander. _No, this is not the home for teenagers,_ she thought, brushing past them.

Two hours later, Reyna lounged in her luxurious leather office chair, absently examining the dark telephone situated in the corner of her mahogany desk. A small slip of paper inscribed with a telephone number slid easily through her fingers. Her dark eyes were unfocused, black lids closing occasionally to shield the orbs from air damage. Her burgundy lips were molded into a stiff frown, casting a staid shadow across her young, beautiful face. Dark chocolate brows were knitted deeply in concentration, and her posture remained static.

In a sweep of motion, her hands elegantly snatched the phone from its cradle; her other hand expertly dialing the prescribed number into the keys. Her fingers then began to drum a rhythm on the desk as the ringing continued, awaiting someone to answer it. Moments later, a smooth, elder male voice announced: "Reyna, I'm glad you decided to call. I have a few things I would like to discuss with you. Now, you are still working in Camp Demeter, correct?"


	3. A Quest to Repair Broken Lives

"Absolutely not," General Malcolm exclaimed, staring at the young doctor angrily. "Camp Demeter was created specifically for the abnormal children of military and political families. There is no other place for these children to go."

"That's true, but I see the budgeting for this project: when there is another place out there, that isn't government funded, that is willing to contribute to us, I don't see how you could possibly turn them down," Reyna argued.

"It isn't part of the military."

"Exactly. Meaning that whatever occurs inside the walls is not the responsibility of the United States government. You of all people should appreciate that fact. Besides, it would be better for the children. Right now, they are isolated from the rest of the mutant world, and the people that they come in contact with are limited to those in similar situations as themselves. They are stored in an out of the way place, where their families hardly ever visit, and they are guarded by the same security measures that the president has. They feel like they are unwanted and a threat to society."

"They are."

"General, that isn't fair. They cannot help what their DNA codes. Would you treat a mentally challenged person the way you treat those kids?"

"The retarded run a lower risk of robbing a bank or seriously injuring another person."

"They won't be if you teach them the right morals. If you continue to isolate these kids, you are going to end up with a handful of delinquents."

"Are you saying that just by putting them in places where they pose no risk to themselves or others, they are going to grow up to be criminals?"

"I'm saying that you're teaching them that they are different than everyone else, and that society has no place for them. They will grow to know that, and they could very well strike out when they are older. There are already plenty of mutant groups out there that despise 'normal' people, and I highly doubt that we want any of these children to join them, given their backgrounds."

The general fell silent, folding his large, pudgy hands in thought. The doctor, despite her youthful appearance, had been weathered and enlightened on the ways of the harsh world through pure experience. Her dark eyes had seen more in one expedition that the general's had in his lifetime. Trust should have been placed in her words without a second thought, but the man's thoughts drifted to the image of young teenager, attired in nothing but black, glaring hatefully with deep cerulean eyes. He felt the fear slowly creep into his solid heart.

"How is Jamie?" the man inquired quietly.

Reyna's eyes softened to chocolate, and her postured wilted slightly. "He's still angry, but he's getting better. It's hard to tell whether his rage is simply from an angst teen or from his deprivation from the world. If no one else does, he would greatly benefit from the move."

Silence raged through the spacious office, engulfing both in reflection. The doctor's gaze shifted from the aging man onto his mementos scattered lovingly across his desk. There were numerous photographs depicting a smiling, perfect couple, crowding two youth to their chests: male and female, the boy older than the other. The boy stared emotionlessly at the camera, ocean eyes narrowed distastefully, attempting desperately to remove himself from the claustrophobic embrace. Reyna instantly distinguished the rudimentary features of Jamie Worthington, son of Elizabeth and Joshua Worthington, grandson of General Malcolm. The general's eyes also rested upon the ripening photograph, a small sigh drawing his attention.

"You are sure that this is the best course of action?" he asked, still hopelessly staring at the picture.

"Yes. I would not have suggested it unless I was positive that it would benefit the children."

"What about the cure?"

"You'll never find a universal cure. Every mutant is different. What acts as an inhibitor for one actually is an enhancer for another. I'm no closer to fixing the genetic codes than others are to being able to choose which characteristics a child has or being able to prevent mental retardation. Mutation is the same as any other genetic abnormality."

"You're sure that these kids are going to be happy at this place?"

"Jamie will be more widely accepted because many of the children at this school know what it is like to have gifts so powerful that they are a danger to themselves and everyone around them. Plus, the head professor will be able to help Jamie control his gift and maybe even help him come out of his shell. It will be highly beneficial for the others as well."

He sighed heavily, turning to stare out his paned window. He allowed stillness to rape the atmosphere once more but only long enough to provoke doubts in Reyna's mind. "I will make a couple calls. I'll let you know what is happening by the end of the week."

"Thank you, sir," Reyna replied, saluting him formally. "You have made the right decision."

"One more thing, Doctor," he stated, halting the woman's progress to the door. "Jamie… does he ever ask about his parents or me?"

"Not since he realized how terrified you are of him," she bluntly responded, continuing her excursion to the door.

The general scrutinized her as she swaggered out the door. He shifted his inspection to the picture on his desk once more. He stared at the boy, who had always remained reclusive and mysterious, marveling at how the doctor had earned his confidence and respect in a time span much shorter than he had with his family. The boy had been in her care for over two years now, and he had no word of any delinquent actions. He collapsed in his homely chair, praying that she knew what she was doing.


	4. Time to Fly

It had taken the general three weeks to approve and co-ordinate the evacuation of Camp Demeter. The children were excited to be moved to their new facility, one that was exempted from military control. Each one would bound up to Reyna when she was brought into their sightline, bearing a unique and novel question for her to answer about the grounds and the people. The excitement electrified the air, energizing everyone that would be affected by the relocation. The soldiers rejoiced in the knowledge that soon the dismal camp would be eliminated from their memories, and more valuable opportunities would arise. Reyna was just as animated as the others, reveling in the prospect that she and her father would be reunited, along with numerous other elapsed friends.

The students extracted all the personal effects from their bedrooms, piling their crates just beyond the reach of their chambers for the day of departure. The soldiers collected the boxes, transferring them to the cargo hold of the plane that would fly them to New York. Lacey, the doctor's secretary and long-time companion, had decreed, despite all protests, that she would accompany them to the school and remain there.

"If I didn't go with you, that would be over twenty five years of friendship tossed right out the door," the woman huffed, lobbing articles of clothing into the awaiting suit cases. "Besides, why would I pass up an opportunity to return to the place that gave me the first glimpse of humanity? Plus, someone needs to look after you. If I didn't, your head would be sitting on your dresser while you were in the lab."

So as the pair sat in company thousands of feet above the ground, there was a deeper trust circulating. Lacey had been trailing Reyna since the first moment that she had seen the woman strolling casually through the halls of the school. She had sought her advice and alliance perseveringly until, grudgingly, the elder had finally caved. That same night, they had combated the harsh effects of sleep, remaining conscious until the sun could relieve them of their watch, disclosing all possible information as the hours waged.

Three years after that, Reyna left the school, entering a career in the military. Lacey, when her efforts to dissuade the woman's decision crumbled to ruins, had moved her residence to a college near the apartment that Reyna had purchased in Canada. Of course the bills became overwhelming to the sheltered student, and she took refuge in the safety that her mentor had offered. Lacey resided in the apartment while attending college at the woman's expense. Though there was no concrete arrangement, to repay the debts she owed, Lacey offered the assistance that one would receive from a psychologist, keeping the military woman from falling into the abyssal depths of insanity. Once, Lacey had been forced watch her roommate enter a depression so massive and ravaging that she physically had to stop the woman from murdering herself. After that, Lacey swore she was never leaving her side.

"You weren't kidding, were you?" Reyna asked suddenly, causing her seat partner to pivot her head unexpectedly. "When you said you were never leaving?"

"Oh, then. No, Reyna, I wasn't. I saw what… what that did to you. I almost watched my best friend commit suicide for god's sake! I was not about to let something like that ever happen again."

"Thank you…for everything," the doctor whispered hoarsely.

"Why are you thanking me? I should be worshipping you. You put me through college, got me a job, let me mooch off of you and your house. You gave me a free ride through life."

"Well, you deserved it."

"Pft, yeah right. There are plenty of people who deserve it more than me, but I'll accept the answer anyway. It's not like you're a pain to live with or anything... well at least not all the time."

The pair giggled hysterically, raising their glasses in mutual toast. Their discussion then began to meander to the times that they had once shared in the school that they were journeying towards now. The fervor was impossible to ignore, and the laughter caused numerous former inmates of Camp Demeter to question the sobriety of the pair. With assurances that they were not indeed ingesting anything other than soda, the students uneasily returned to their own speculations. Reyna's watchful midnight eyes scanned the spacious plane for signs of her violent, adoptive son/brother. In the far back corner of the cabin, the sixteen-year-old was slouched lowly in the seat, glaring hatefully at the terrain passing beneath him. The doctor sighed sadly, motioning for Lacey to move.

"Yeah, he's been like that since you told them that they were moving. You sure you want to do this here? If he gets angry…"

"I know what can happen, Lacey, and so does he. He is the most dangerous one on this plane, and he knows that the others are slightly afraid of him. I need to show him that not everyone holds that same fear."

"Just remember that you're not the only one on this plane. I know you don't exactly place a lot of value on your life or anything, but it wouldn't be fair to these kids."

She declined her ability to respond to the insulting remark, hastily closing the gap between herself and the teen. Her target did not bother to shed his gaze on her, eyes continuing the slaughter of the scenery below. His hair had gone uncut for what appeared to be several months, falling well past his ears. The blonde strands provided ample camouflage for his eyes. His handsome, sand skin was unmarred by the usual effects of the adolescent years, leaving a stoic statue in its wake. Reyna settled calmly into the seat, reveling in the silence that became a commodity in her world.

"What is it, Colonel?" the boy asked abruptly inquired.

Reyna flinched at the use of her "soldiers" name. "I noticed that you've been withdrawn lately. What's wrong?"

He sighed heavily, scoffing. "Isn't it obvious? I'm going to a place where no one knows me, or what I am capable of. They won't know not to mess with me. I don't want to hurt someone and get moved to an out of the way camp again."

"Jamie, the school that you're going to specializes in mutants. Some of the children there have gifts every bit as dangerous as yours. The headmaster of the school has also offered to help you gain more control over your gift."

"Why should I trust them?"

"Because I personally know almost all of the teachers at this place. They are people just like you and the others. All the students are just like you. They want to help you. The school will be like you're going to a normal boarding school. You'll have more freedom than ever before. You'll be learning with others your own age. Who knows, you might even find a girl that strikes your fancy," the doctor suggested, grinning slyly.

"Hey, now, Colonel! You're one to talk. When was the last time you went out on a date?"

"When did this become about me?" she defended.

"Since you brought my personal life into it. So what's the deal? Plenty of guys at the camp, but all I ever hear about them talk about is how you gave them the cold shoulder. Or are you and Miss Lacey a little closer than you let on?" he accused, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

"Jamie Lee Worthington!"

"Sorry, Colonel. Had to test you, but the guards talk, you know. I learned most of my stuff from them. So?"

"It's complicated," she stated simply, but continued when she saw his disbelieving expression. "No, I'm not a lesbian. I like guys… A LOT, but I never date underlings. If I am a rank above them, it means that they are lazy, young, and/or stupid."

"You ever had a boyfriend?"

"Plenty. Only one lasted longer than six months though."

"How long was that seven?"

"No! It was a year and a half," shesnapped defensivley, pausing several moments in reflection. "But everything fell apart when he got too ambitious."

"What was he like? Before you scold me for being nosey, I want to know that the infamous Colonel isn't as big of a cold hearted bitch as she appears to her minions."

"He was… incredible," she whispered, her mind recalling the intimate details of her lover. "Tall, muscular, but not a hulking form. He had the wildest hair. Ugh, and that man would never comb it! Well, he was a bit of a loner, traveled a lot and stuff, but he was loyal. And possessive. Or protective, it's hard to tell which one sometimes. Not really the boyfriend type. It took a long time before he trusted me. But he was incredible."

"Sounds like you two got along great. A strong girl like you needs someone stronger."

"Since when did you become an expert in relationships?"

"I just know you. Plus, your underling comment made it pretty obvious."

Reyna scoffed, pivoting her head towards the aisle, scanning the students for any disturbances. The younger children were huddled in a tight knit group, enthusiastically gossiping and giggling. The teens were strung out in several locations, most intently distracting themselves from the world with head phones. Jamie made a small noise, recapturing his mentor's attention.

"So, this guy, Xavier… can I trust him? I mean, will he really help me, you know... control my gift?"

"He'll do everything in his power to help, and yes, you most definitely can trust him. I do."

"I guess that I can accept that answer, but just one more question: why aren't you with this guy anymore?"

She drew a deep breath, shady eyes closing in concentration and remembrance. "He's dead," she murmured after innumerable moments passed. "Or, at least, I hope so."

Jamie allowed his mouth to gape as though he was about to voice another thought, but Reyna quickly stood, briskly returning to her original seat. Her face held a visible disturbance, like she had just awoken from a nightmare whose effects refused to go away. Lacey noticed the anguish in her countenance and raised a question to her well being. Reyna gave a futile assurance that she was fine before drugging herself with a light sleeping pill that would assure a much needed rest for the remainder of the trip. It did not take long for them to affect her system.


	5. Welcome and Hello Again

She awoke several hours later as their plane reached the earth once more, startled and burdened with past sorrows. Lacey was closely observing the woman with more than moderate concern. Reyna avoided all interrogations by pushing past her to oversee all the transportation arrangements to the school. Lacey followed faithfully, intently attempting to find an opportune moment to voice her worries. She was presented with no such opportunity. The moment Reyna stepped down from the platform, she was swept into the awaiting arms of Hank McCoy, who would have gone unrecognized had it not been for Charles informing her of the Beast's unfortunate side effects. Lacey joined the embrace not long after. There were several less receptive reunions with Scott Summers and Jean Grey, the latter of whom Reyna resisted the urge to hiss at.

They began unloading the children and their possessions, transferring the cargo into busses and vans. There was an incessant buzz of chattering being exchanged between everyone. Out of habit from her former occupation, Reyna was constantly scanning her surroundings for any signs that there might be someone that would want to inflict harm upon them, but all was quite normal. Jamie joined the woman on one of her inspections, shedding an assertion that if anything of such nature arose, he would be delighted to demonstrate the destructive force of his power. Reyna was neither impressed nor assured. The remark earned him a cold glare and a demanding order to join the rest on the busses. He whined in faux disappointment before making his move to merge with the others.

The buses from there escorted the students on a twenty minute drive to the secluded mansion in Salem, New York. Lacey was now being entertained by the blue, furry Beast, leaving Reyna alone with her thoughts and dreams. It had been a long time since Reyna had dreamed about the man who had stolen her heart for what would become a life time, but on that plane, the memories had resurfaced, and with them came the more troubling times. She was thanking every higher being that she could think of that she had not dreamt of the last time she had seen the man.

She had dreamt instead of the first time that they had traipsed out their usual working facility to drink away the consequences of their jobs. She remembered, with vivid accuracy, the amount of beer she had consumed before her and her drinking partner began ordering whiskey by the bottle, downing one or two every half hour. She remembered the seamless laughter and ease that swirled around them as they drank the night away. And later, she felt the lust and reckless passion that had blossomed as they journeyed back to his flat to have a late night release session.

Had it not been for the painful way that she had lost him, the visions would have been welcomed and cherished, but since then, she had made a vigorous attempt to forget all traces of him, as he did her. Of course, her heart had never allowed her to complete the task her mind had delegated. She still kept a locked chest, filled nearly to the brim with all the mementos that she possessed of him. When she awoke to the visions of the last time the saw one another, of their last day together, she opened the chest, embracing every memory, every sight, every smell, every feeling that she could recall. But, fifteen years later, those nights did not come nearly as often. She idly wondered why they had started recurring now.

She was jerked from her brain as the buses stopped at the entrance of a large, elegant house. Reyna gazed intently out of the glass window, admiring the long since memorized sights of the grounds. Vines of ivy grew rampantly and untamed, coating the stone walls of the mansion with nature's favorite color. Many children were playfully romping about the perfectly kept lawn, carefully watched over by the older mutants. All attention was drawn to the approaching caravan of busses and vans, eyes wide in disbelief and curiosity. _Home, _she idly thought, surprising even herself that she had actually called this monstrosity her home. She defined home not by where one resided for lengths of times, but whom one resided with. That being her philosophy, she had never believed that there would be a "home" for her ever again.

Scott and Jean delegated the unloading of the children, while Reyna and Lacey floated amongst the scenery, regaining the lost sense of direction. Scott, much to the students dismay, demanded that everyone stay together until they had fully settled them in. However, the older ones began instantly venturing off to different locations, reeled quickly back to the crowd by a very cranky Scott. Resigning themselves to control, the mass allowed themselves to be herded through the mammoth oak doors into the welcoming foyer. Many of the residents of Xavier's School for the Gifted curiously gazed at the thirty new children that would be joining their ranks. The initial meeting was warm, smiles being exchanged between more people than could be counted. Reyna breathed a sigh of relief.

"Home sweet home!" Lacy chirped, twirling about, laughing uncontrollably. "How long has it been since I was here?"

"At least twenty years," replied a velvet feminine voice from the stairwell. "But it's good to see that you're all alive and well."

"Hello, Ororo," Reyna stated, slyly smiling at the white-haired, bronzed goddess floating down the steps. "My, my, you have grown up a lot. You're a lot taller than you used to be."

"While you still look like you're twenty," she jabbed.

"What can I say? It's my gift."

They burst out laughing, embracing one another in a sisterly manner. The doctor's kids were observing curiously, not understanding how their caretaker could possibly know the attendants of the school. Ororo and Reyna were animatedly chatting about the times that had been missed during her absence and numerous other random topics that had no meaning to the outsiders what so ever. Jean had taken her position by Scott's side, jade eyes drilling holes into the side of Reyna's head. Her boyfriend was impassively scrutinizing the halls, resuming his uptight teacher mode. His stance straightened when the sound of automated wheels caught their attention.

"Reyna," Charles stated from his seat in his wheelchair, causing the brunette beauty to spin. "Welcome back."

"It's good to be back," she stated honestly, striding over to hug the man. "Father."

"Father?" a gruff, masculine tone sounded; its familiarity triggered the woman to jerk her head to gape at its owner.

The man was leaning casually against the oak frame of the hall, a thick cigar clenched between his thin, pale lips. Curly muttonchops lined his gaunt cheeks blending into his defined jaw line and muscular neck. His dark eyes held a defiant, strong anger, accompanied by the lightest hint of confusion. The same confusion that Reyna knew was now clouding her own orbs. His body was nothing but lean muscles attached to a strong skeleton. _A very strong skeleton,_ Reyna bitterly thought, refocusing her gaze to her father. Charles was oblivious to anything that was plaguing his daughter.

"Yes, Logan. I would like you to meet my daughter, Reyna."

"Hey," he grunted, still inspecting the woman before him.

"Hi," she managed to choke out before clenching her jaw tightly shut once more. "Um, Professor, perhaps we could get the kids settled before much else. It's been a long day, and I'm sure that they all want to rest."

"Of course. Storm, Jean, why don't you get the children and Lacey settled in. Reyna, we meant to give you your old room, but seeing that it is currently occupied, I think that room on the end will suit you best. I trust that you know the way."

"Yes, I do. I'll see you all at dinner," she answered, turning away from the group, but paused long enough to stare at Logan one last time. "It was nice to meet you, Logan."

With that, she dashed up the stairs. Even as the mass dissipated from the main hallway, Logan continued to stare after the woman, eyes narrowed. He was sure that he had seen the woman at least once before, but the location of that sighting eluded his conscience. She was a mutant. Her scent had made that blatantly obvious. The woman's fragrance was laced with traces of warm vanilla and remnants freshly fallen rain: crisp, clean, and unadulterated by overpowering perfumes. It was a rarity that a woman waltzed about the mansion without bearing the manmade smells of body mist. He vaguely wondered if her mutation was like his own, heightened senses. _Or she might just like to be all natural_, he thought, mentally shuddering at the thought of a woman being truly all natural.

He could not admit that the aroma was unpleasant; it was quite the opposite. His feral side had wanted to stride up to the woman and spend a few minutes inhaling the intoxicating scent. He growled out loud, scolding himself for allowing the animal within to exert control over his "human" side. It was an unremitting battle that he lost more than he emerged victorious. That factor, however, had not caused him to cease his attempts. He refused to allow himself the luxury of permitting that side to command his body for any length of time. Only once had he even made use of the skills in this house: when Stryker invaded. Then he had almost embraced the innate instincts to slaughter everything in his path. He shook his head slightly, ridding himself of the lasting, satisfied feeling of bloodlust, turning toward the hall to prepare for a difficult session in the Danger Room.


	6. What Do We Do?

Reyna found her designated room with ease, shoving the barricade shut behind her, sanctioning the solitude of the desolate room to envelope her body in calm. Her mind, in contrast, was raging in a war of denial. Logan, she echoed psychologically. My god, could it be?

She recalled that her father had called her here not only because of the adolescents that she was charged with, but also because he believed that there were certain members of his faculty that could benefit from the experience she obtained and the nature of her mutation. She failed to see how anyone that her father employed would benefit from the skills of a secret operative or one with complete mastery of the mutation that allowed her to be an operative as long as she had. She had not questioned his motives at the time, seizing the invitation to relocate her charges to a more suitable facility without side considerations or hesitation. Now, in the sanctuary of her chamber, the faults of her haste were becoming evident.

It was not that she assumed that Charles would place any child in the destructive path of peril intentionally, but she, one the other hand, had not been a child for very long time, if ever. She chided herself for considering the incongruous situation that Charles would endanger his own flesh and blood's well being in any form. The more she dwelled, the more insignificant it became, paling in comparison to the man she had met downstairs. She was racked with sudden urge to scream in agony and cry with joy. Split evenly, her being had directed her to two very different, very extreme responses.

The moment his voice disturbed the air, she had known its owner, but even as his disheveled, natural appearance greeted her eyes, she had not accepted the verity that it was actually him. Anguish racked her body, rendering her weak and helpless. Anyone else would have been overwhelmed with joy and bowled into him, sobbing uncontrollably into his shoulder, then again, not everyone else would have the knowledge to construct a devastating experiment, destroying what little self control was present, forcing him to surrender to the feral instinct of survival.

She cried, crystals sliding silently down the slope of her marble cheeks. She transferred her weight to the wall behind her, body being overtaken by gravity and sliding to the floor. The tears slowed as her mind erased every thought she had as her blind eyes gazed at the room. Her emotions plundered her brain, the logical side rising to defend her sanity. The war raged for several minutes before the emotions were retreating to the recesses of her heart, and logic now conquered and operated her psyche once more. _My father can't know anything about him, or at least I hope not. I'd like to think that he would have told me that he knew. Well, at any rate, if he doesn't know, I should tell him._

She nimbly used her strong legs to raise her form, arms yanking the door open as she exited. She strode down the hallway with confidence and an aura of leper. The eyes of passing students, as if by magnetism, were drawn to her. The message was clear: "Who are you and what are you doing here?" Once again, her eyes blinded, the ghost of consciousness guiding her through the labyrinth of constant oak paneling and staircases to her father's office in the main hallway of the first floor. She stood before the massive door for a moment, feeling dwarfed and childlike, allowing her brain to restart and begin functioning. When her systems were online, she politely knocked, entering after she had been bid to do so.

The room was much like every other classroom in the mansion, with the exception of an oak desk positioned prominently at the center of the window. Charles was seated behind it, gazing at her as though he had been expecting her. Their eyes clashed, tigers eyes against emerald, exchanging a calm, calculating message. The only movement Charles made was with his eyes, following the young woman's form as it sunk into one of the chairs. He sensed a disturbance in her, but was hesitant to intrude. Reyna was, after all, his offspring; therefore she had inherited minute traces of her sire's abilities.

"You can go ahead and have a look. I won't try to stop," she prompted, cat-like eyes narrowing in weariness, resigning herself to inspection.

He nodded, diving into her private thoughts. After several minutes of rummaging about the chaotic, forbidden chambers, he managed to whisper, "My god."

"I know."

"You're positive this is him?"

"Without doubt."

"You actually…"

"Yes," she answered unsteadily, voice cracking. "Yes, I did."

"There is too much anguish here for him to be a simple test subject."

"Well, you may believe what you wish, but he was just that."

"Reyna, I understand that I was not always around when you were growing up, and that you would much rather have this conversation with Eric... Let me finish," he added quickly, having watched her mouth open in protest. "I know that you connect more with Eric than myself, and I know that you are blocking me from seeing everything, but Reyna, you can trust me enough to talk to me."

"I do, but there's nothing to talk about aside from how you want me to proceed."

Charles leaned back comfortably, emerald eyes dulling in thought. He gazed at the woman, her image made of swirling thoughts and emotions. He was resisting the urge to rip the protected memories from her but reconsidered, knowing that the action would almost certainly cause her to lose control of what was already precariously equalized. He also knew that Logan was in a far more tentative state, the slightest wrong action holding the ability to awaken the beast caged weakly within.

"Do nothing," he answered sternly after time had stopped forever. "Act as though you have never met before."

"Why?"

"The reason I asked you to join me here is Logan. His mutation, you see, it is rather similar to your own. I don't know of anyone else who could understand his fears of becoming overwhelmed by that instinct. I want you to help him get a better control on that first."

"No, you don't," she accused. "You want to play the game with him, the one where you know something that he doesn't and you want to make him guess at it. You want him to figure everything out on his own."

"Reyna, I have studied the mind far longer than you have been alive. It is best in this case to let the mind reconstruct what has been lost. I'm hoping with your help that I can understand why it has left him."

"Don't insult me, Charles," she almost hissed, the use of his name cutting a deep laceration to the heart. "I may look twenty and happy, but you know how old I really am and what I have been through. You want him to figure it out, fine. But I'll warn you, my mutation is not the only barely under control thing. My mind rests on that same edge. If I slip, I was protecting myself. I can comfort him better than myself."

Without another word, she rose, stalking to the door. She paused, at the exit barely long enough to think "Sorry." With a rapid, ephemeral glance at her father, she slithered out the crevice in the doorway, striding down the hallway. This time there were no accusing gazes. No one paid her any heed; it was like she was invisible. Smiling to herself, she pranced about the hall, remembering the forgotten rush of irony. She felt the sensation of power that always came when she was on the job, moving surreptitiously amongst crowds. But her age old saying invaded her mind: _The rush is getting in; the high is getting out_


End file.
